well told Paddy, bravo.
You may like a post I made a while ago, in similar vein:
===============The Shake
Picture this. I have been painting the house all week and weekend, using
every available moment to grab a brush. I walked into the shop to get a
large can of acrylic white I'd left there. As I walk into the shop I make a
bee-line around the junk laying everywhere and make one small mistake - I
tread on the shop-dog's tail. The dog, a solid two year old Lab, leaps up
howling and lifts the card table she's under. The paint I am looking for was
on the card table, now it is everywhere and running all over the shop-dog's
back. Shop-dog gets that bath-time look, and I know she is about to shake,
so I yell "NOOooooo" and make a grab for her. I slip on the paint and crash
down in a heap on the floor in the paint, sawdust and shavings.
The dog gets 'the look' again and there's not a thing I can do about it. I
watch as she lowers her nose at me and the lips begin to twitch, the eyes go
into squint mode and the jowls begin to wobble, the nose twitches and,
finally, her head starts 'the shake'. The paint flies from her head to the
roof, walls, tool cabinets, windows - everywhere! The 'shake' moves to her
neck and back as I get to my feet and start bellowing at her. She tries to
move away but is mid-shake, and only manages a half-turn, this is just
sufficient to aim at the remaining unpainted areas of the shop. A full
gallon and a half is thrown all over the shop, what can't get onto benches
hits the roof, then falls onto benches. Drillpresses, sawbench, electrical
tools, open cupboards and drawers, she gets the lot. I try to dive again and
miss, instead hitting the Sears toolboxes which begin to move quickly across
the floor until they hit the expansion crease - and stop dead - at least the
wheels do anyway. The three cabinets lean right over and fall, crashing into
the TS and dropping their contents all over the floor into the paint,
spanners, sockets, screwdrivers, planes, chisels - every darn handtool I
own.
At this point I roar out "get the f*@# outta here" and hear SWMBO saying
"Greg, it's all right". "Bull*#@!" says I, as I struggle with something
pinning me down. I slowly realise I am pinned by a sheet, and become aware
that I am in bed, dry, and it's the middle of the night. SWMBO asks why I
was yelling at Sally (shop-dog), and what did she do? For my part, I tell
the kids to go back to bed and promise to tell SWMBO in the morning. I
should have told her as soon as we got up, because she has been reading this
over my shoulder as I type it in, and now I have coffee down my back.
Brains are treacherous things guys, never switch 'em off - they'll turn on
ya.
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